Pssst! Hey! You – Yes You. Wanna See My Stash?

Yo, you wanna check out my stash man? It’s good stuff. Promise.

The living room TV cabinet has 4 small shelves built into it. 3 belong to the ex. But one is mine, all mine. MU WAH HAH HA!

That shelf has books stored 2 rows deep, with some piled up on top for good measure.

I mask both rows with a single facade of ‘acceptable’ books and the Cartland’s live behind this facade. At least in the Living room…

Living room small stash. One rogue Poirot here.

The real stash, the good stuff, is right under the bed.

The books are stacked 2 rows deep under the bed, and 3 rows deep in the side table cabinet. (Small stash of Heyers as well. Barbs can’t get everything.)

I ran out of space eventually so I packed away all my shoes (I’ve worn one pair of shoes for a year. In a way it makes getting dressed for work easier.)

I ran out of space there too, so now I also have a little tower of books hidden in my desk.

I feel like such a junkie.

Under the Bed. 2 rows deep. Tower and a half of Heyers on the far left, BC’s behind. Cabinet on the right all BC’s

Cabinet Close up. 3 Deep.

Under the bed closeup. (Slightly blurry)

THE IRONY!! THE IRONY!!! OH GOD THE IRONY!!

I spent over a year collecting nearly 430 Barbara Cartland books

Hundreds of wasted hours hunting down books!

THOUSANDS of pounds! THOUSANDS! No lie

And look!

JUST FUCKING LOOK!!!!

320 Barbara Cartlands!!! In ONE FUCKING LOT!!!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooo

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCkk!!!!!!

LOOK AT THE PRICE!!! ARRRRRRRRGHHHHH

(Can you tell by my haphazard capitals just how distraught I am?)

Barbara Cartland Paper Backs Over 300 Selling on eBay RIGHT NOW! Click here to see.

On a happier note – I’d never go to Basildon Essex to pick it up.

Update:

Eventually sold for just £37 pounds.

Sigh.

Still, I really would never go to Basildon Essex to pick it up.

Also the ex would have killed me if I bought 300 books in one go.

Barbara Cartland Margin Note

I love the way he's drawn her dress. (Francis Marshall)

Click to view large - Someone had marked a section in red, leaving a comment below.

The plot is that the beautiful and delicate heroine has been kidnapped by an evil Russian nobleman (obviously, since nearly all Russians are evil in BCs) who has run off into the desert with her. (I forget where this is set)

She is placed in a tent and after telling her how he plans to ‘de-flower’ her, he claps his hands imperiously to summon a serving woman to dress his fragile flower in an outfit of suitably flimsy eastern robes.

She is then told that if she thinks about trying to escape by bribing her, the serving woman is a deaf-mute and won’t understand her.

In the margins, some unknown reader before me has underlined ‘deaf-mute’ and noted in red in the margin,

“How did she hear him clap his hands?”

By golly that’s a good point! I would never have noticed that.

I really enjoyed that little note. It really perked up the book.

Someone was telling me about this artist (can never remember names) who had a project where volunteers had to take romance novels and read them very openly on public transport.

They couldn’t hide it, they had to sit up, holding the book high at eye level with the cover facing outside.

The idea being to gauge the reaction of strangers (Or so I vaguely remember being told) and later the participants would fill out some form describing how they felt and what they felt other people were thinking about them.

What a great idea for a project. I feel slightly embarrassed about reading the Barbara Cartland’s on the tube.

The Heyer’s have a little more cred, but there can only be shame in BC titles such as “Pirate of Love”

I fear the judgement of strangers. I don’t know why, but I do.

So I use various mechanisms of hiding the title. Mostly I fold the cover over, which I don’t like doing because it ruins the spine.

Really what I need is a dust jacket.

I believe someone created a series of dust jackets designed to look like serious books of literary merit like Tolstoy’s War & Peace.

I saw someone reading this on the tube once. What a show-off.

Giant Wave of Nostalgia – Retro Books & Games

A close approximation to my wave of nostalgia

In a giant wave of nostalgia, that clearly heralds the start of my decline into dotage, I’ve hunted down things I used to love as a child.

I like to imagine the giant nostalgia wave literally – Picture a huge tsunami cresting, the water made from the salty tears of your childhood gone by. Floating on the wave, like so much flotsam and jetsam are old photos, floppy disks and various miscellaneous objects that trigger fond or melancholic memories. You are flip-flopping in the middle of this giant wave, as it sweeps you inexorably to the hard, sandy shore of the now.

Anyhoo I’ve been tracking down books I read when I was growing up.

• Enid Blyton’s The Faraway Tree
• Enid Blyton’s The Wishing Chair
• CS Lewis Narnia
• Barbara Cartlands
• Agatha Christie‘s Poirot.

These were also books I never had complete sets of, and always dreamed of owning the complete sets. (I had Narnia)

“When I grow up and have LOADS of money I will buy ALL these books…

I’m one of those people who are compelled to collect things. I can’t help it. If it’s not one thing, it’s another, much to the ex’s despair.

I’ve also been hunting various old DOS games I used play and loved. Luckily the nerds of the world are all online. Converting and uploading and sharing retro games. I’ve been systematically tracking them down.

I don’t know how I ever managed to use this.

1. Prince of Persia

Prince of Persia. I never got past level 11. My brother had to play it for me.

I found this amazing retro game pack online called ‘Classic Games Formatted for Mac Vol 1, 2, 3′

(Google it – the download links pop right up)

It has loads of old games formatted for a Mac – Lemmings, Worms, Carmageddon, Sim City, Dune, Duke Nuke-em, Secret of Monkey Island and many more I had never even heard of.

2. The Secret Of Monkey Island

The Secret of Monkey Island. Such a wise-guy.

The Secret of Monkey Island was a most pleasant discovery from the Classic Games archive I downloaded. I had never played it before.

It’s an adventure game with a fun story line. (Your character has to collect objects and then uses them to solve various puzzles along the way. You type into the game telling your character what to say/do.)

I still love getting smart-ass comments back from the game if it doesn’t like what you asked the character to do. For some reason that just never gets old.

Punch him in the face (Got knocked out)

Say a bad word. (Won’t)

Spit. (Got a snarky remark from my character)

Pee in the sea (he does)

I cheated a heck of a lot.

I mean I tried not to cheat – but some solutions were so oblique I couldn’t figure them out. So I found some forum online with step-by-step detailed instructions on exactly what to do. I tried to use it as a last resort. It’s not as much fun as solving them yourself.

Which leads me nicely to…

2. Kings Quest

Kings Quest 6 – Heir Today, Gone Tomorrow. I had this one

We had only one version of this game and I never finished it. It’s along the same lines as The Secret of Monkey Island.

This comic by the Middlest Sister explains it perfectly.

So inspired by that comic, I was confident I could find this game somewhere online.

And so I did –  Click here to download the first 3 versions of the game formatted for both Mac & PC.

(Quest for the Crown, Romancing the Stones, and To Heir is Human)

I unfortunately, don’t like any of the first 3. The pointer speed is set too slow to make game play anything other than a chore. I can’t play it without feeling annoyed. Also KQ 3 has a timer and that ruins everything. I mean I’m never on time in life. I can’t be doing that in a game. It’s too stressful.

I found KQ6 online and its taken me the better part of a week to finish it and I cheated 4 times to get through it.

I recommend no. 6 out of the Kings Quest lot. It’s defintely the best.

So what with the balancing of pens on Luigi and finishing this game, it has been an hectic holiday week.

3. Chips Challenge

Chips Challenge. I once accidentally wiped out Shanaya’s younger sister’s game. Luckily she had saved the password. Man I got some evils for that. Her sister is scary. 

I can’t find a decent, authentic Mac formatted version of this game anywhere. Frustrating.

If anyone finds one let me know.

4. Another quest game called Mission to Mars (or something like that)

This was a level by level puzzle based game. (Unlike Kings Quest or Secret of Monkey Island)

It was in only 3 pixel colours – Orange and Brown and maybe white. My memory is fuzzy.

I can’t find this one either. Mostly because I can’t remember the name correctly.

Alright – I’m going to go play Kings Quest now.

Even though that’s really the last thing I need to be doing… I was supposed to do some drawing on holiday…

Sigh.

Oh well.

I’ve hit the 400+ count on my Barbara Cartland Collection.

The Slaves of Love. I love Francis Marshall illustrations.

Yes that’s right. I’ve stubbornly persisted with my mental illness. Onwards and upwards!

I realised that the 723 target I had estimated earlier included 200 books of non-fiction. Not even my avowed dedication to such a cause as this will allow me to purchase 200 books of non-fiction penned by Mz Cartland. So I’ve adjusted my goal to 512 or thereabouts.

I confess I’m feeling a bit worn out. The last 100 are proving to be a challenge to acquire. (Cost + availability).

To soothe myself I bought the entire collection of Georgette Heyer’s, who only wrote 35 Regency novels in her lifetime, of a far superior quality, compared to Barbara Cartland’s one book a week standard. Apparently BC modeled herself on GH by liberally pilfering from her novels. I must say, the Heyers are much better reads, quite the high-grade heroin to Barbara’s cheap talcum-powdered crack. I’ve nearly worked my way through the entire lot.

The other day A2 (one of the bosses at work) had to ‘remind me’ to take home some of my books that were being stockpiled behind my desk. Work is rather baffled by this collection but at the same time intrigued, so much so that my desk neighbor actually bought a duplicate book off me. Stockholm syndrome of some kind or hypnotic suggestion maybe.

I’ve calculated that I’ve spent £2.10 a day everyday for the last 2 months. That sounds like a lot, until you consider that a Sunday newspaper is £2.50

News? Pffftt who needs news? Amy is dead. Osama is dead. Neither did drugs and one of them watched porn. The stock market is down again. Didn’t we just do this whole stock market down crap?

This is why I never bother with the news. It’s always some kind of re-run.

So back to the Heyers I go.

The Curse of The Similar Titles

Oh Barb! How could you?

Do you know what I found out this last week? See this photo above?

The book on the left and the one on the right are exactly the same.

I know. I was as shocked and devastated as you are.

Different covers, different titles – Completely different! I mean, occasionally there can be some confusion over a few of her titles which all sound relatively similar (and by now I have racked up a few.)

i.e. Time for Love, No time for Love, Where is Love, Who can Deny Love etcetera etcetera. All vaguely similar.

But this one. It’s nowhere even close! No wonder I was fooled.

I was so disappointed when I opened the post and saw the blurb at the back.

How many heroes can there be in Scotland called ‘Torquil’?

Even for dear Barb. that would be stretching it.

Worst of all, the one on the right I bought to replace the book below (it’s the same, but printed in an extra-large font) little realising I had the thin version already.

Curse of the Clan duplicate

Look, I know its crazy to buy a book just to replace an identical book but I thought I’d better get one that fitted in with the rest of my hoard. The large font version (below) is bigger, heavier and fatter.

Yes, yes I know! It’s anal retentive but that’s the nature of collections anyway… it had a shittier cover too, if that helps.

So now I have 3 copies of the same book.

To give vent to my strong feelings of disappointment, I grabbed the ex forcefully and said in tones of passion, (for our mutual amusement)

“Oh Torquil, Torquil!!”

I’ve read BCs at a manic pace, one after another in close succession. On weekends I can read 4 to 5.

I almost thought my fervour had peaked the day before yesterday, when I felt what was almost a disinterest in moving on to another book.

But it was a false alarm and the feeling soon past. It’s full swing again.

When I run out I swear I will start drawing with as much fervour as my reading. Cross my heart. Really I will.

I started a sketch in my sketchbook called ‘Real Gujus Eat Theplas’. It’s a tribute to Riddhi, who is a guju who hates theplas. I got her to bring me and Leo theplas when she came to visit. They were delicious, especially with imli chutney.

The boar people were very happy with my boar. They asked me to doall the ingredients for the gin in the same style.

For the packaging I suppose. I’m well pleased. It’s good time pass.

I Hate Birthdays

Let them eat cake. Hell, lets all eat cake.

I find birthdays to be highly anxious times.

Not mine, mine are fine (mostly). I don’t care that much.

Sometimes I organize drinks at a pub, other times I can’t be bothered. May isn’t warm enough in this country and in Maharashtra my birthday is a dry day (not that has ever stopped us drinking at home). So my birthday is usually a moderate affair.

The ex is the opposite. The ex’s birthday is very important. Like an occasion of state.

Parades and confetti, a marching band and obsequious fawning. Protesters being executed at dawn. The usual dictatorial celebrations.

The ex also likes to test me before the big event, by asking, very casually,

“So….do you know what next thursday is?”

I pretend I don’t know, casually of course,

Shrug. “Uhm… no….?”

The ex’s hackles rise immediately – Ou est la guillotine??

“You don’t remember?? You forgot?”

Then I make a mock-horror face and say

“OH MY GOD!!! Noooooooooooooooooooo!”

I try to entertain the ex at home, in this way. The ex hates it.

That aside, the ex’s birthdays give me nightmares. Literally. I woke up stressed a week before the ‘Royal Day’ after a dream where I was looking for gifts in vain. The pressure is dreadful.

What is worse is that I feel the chances of success are slim to none. If the ex desires something it has already been bought, and it’s usually some designer gear. This makes gift giving a real struggle. The ex is also a utilitarian, so novelty items (that great birthday present refuge) are a no-go area.

If the ex doesn’t like a present I have to return it, not the ex. So my hair-pulling, pathetic efforts are rewarded with trouble and humiliation. (I think, only one present of mine has remained unreturned.) Worst of all the dud present is soundly critiqued and I am scolded for any of its flaws.

How can I buy the wrong kind of present? Why aren’t I more efficient? What is wrong with me? I suck. Doesn’t the ex always get me gifts I like? Blah blah.

This is true in so far that I have so far only disliked 1 present (one didn’t fit but which I returned, myself).

The simple reason for this is that I have low expectations. Not in any negative way, but I don’t demand cake. No confetti. No parade. No heads on silver platters. I’m pretty easy to please.

This year after looking around and pulling out my hair, I asked the ex what they wanted. Shoes and clothes were out – size is too risky. Household things – a vase? Yuck. Things for kitchen – like what? I already bought the ex a chef’s outfit with name embroidered. You know it was really stupid of me to use that gift on a non-event day. It was a great gift. I should have saved it for some ‘occasion’ instead, but I was excited and I wanted the ex to have it. Now I had no idea what to get, Fuck!

Anyway, to return to the point – I asked the ex what they wanted.

The ex grudgingly told me what they would like. Grudgingly because I’m expected to be a psychic, you know. I ask because I would rather get something the ex actually wants, and perhaps I won’t be criticised and have to return it. The ex translates this as not giving a fuck.

(The ex is one of those people who demands surprises but hates them once received. The ex will deny this, but the ex is not a ‘surprises’ person. Fact. And I’m not a psychic. Double fact.)

So I found whatever it was online, wrapped it, matching card. Blah blah. (The ex loves things that match.) The ex said OK thanks – at the time…Later the ex said it wasn’t good enough. (which annoyed me hugely) Then we had that idiotic fight about cake.

It wasn’t just a fight about cake… (like that Marks & Spencers ad –  it’s not just a cake…it’s a chocolate soaked, gold-plated, diamond encrusted M&S cake).

I feel the ex is uniquely ungrateful and ungracious. (My mom and I bought a bag, from some expensive shop in Bombay, which the ex absolutely hated and didn’t hesitate voicing it. Then I felt bad about that. Bad that we got it wrong, bad the ex was tearing into the little peace-offering and bad because I told my mom that the ex liked it. Bad x 3. Never again. Seriously.)

So now I feel nothing will be good enough.

Note: Let me just add that the majority of my birthdays the ex has ruined in some way. The year before last I slept on the couch after an awful, entirely unwarranted scene at 4 in the morning – also even though it was the last thing I wanted to do, the ex and my gay ex flat-mate insisted on going to The End. A seriously shit time. Hated it. I fucking hated it. So angry about that. Yes, still.

Another year, the ex couldn’t be bothered with me and leaving me in their flat, went out with some other friends. I was so depressed I cried. One year we went to Brussels and the ex fought we me and then said some things which were so offensive and upsetting, that I can’t forgive them even now.

Last year I refused to do anything – I’d rather just have a peaceful night.

So a couple of weeks ago the ex asked me what I wanted. I said Barbara Cartlands (I didn’t think the ex would agree, frankly.) But the ex did agree! On a small list of 15 used books on eBay.

I was really, really excited. I made up the list up to prevent duplicates. It took some time to do this.

The ex only bought 8 because the seller ran out of the others. Dammit! So I asked if the ex would let me check and make another list?

“No I can’t be bothered, it’s done now. That’s it. Don’t bug me.”

So now, even though I am aware it’s ungrateful and absurd, I’m disappointed.

Partly because the ex clearly doesn’t reciprocate any of the anxiety I feel for their birthday, and partly because I wanted all 15.

Like its pointless. Birthdays just are fucking pointless. Yours, other people’s, everyone’s. Whatever you do it’s a fucking disappointment. I fucking hate birthdays. I wish we could just can the whole thing.

(My Barbara Cartland addiction is making me slightly dramatic and emotional. I wanted those 15 god dammit. How will my BC count ever go up at this rate?)

——

Post Post-script:

I’d like to say while writing this post, I thought of a good gift for the ex for next year and although I’m not sure the ex will appreciate it, it’s probably good to plan well in advance considering the high level of tension the Glorious Day of Birth can cause.

And Fuck I’ll even buy a cake which the ex probably won’t eat. Sheesh.

Christ. Fucking cake.

——

Post Post Post Script: We had a pointless fight about cleaning the other day (nothing to do with the post above), so I went on a spree and bought 17 more BC’s to console myself.

I feel better now.

723

211. So beautiful. So magnificent. So... I'm at a loss for words. Click to view large.

That’s 211 Barbara Cartlands you’re looking at.

Yup, two hundred and eleven. Let me just spell it out. Let me savour it.

God just looking at it turns me on.

Then I think of the 512 I’m missing and I lose my hard on.

I was partly joking initially when I said it would be fun to hunt down and buy all 723 Barbara Cartland titles. I vaguely meant that I’d buy as many as I could and I guess that would be all.

Now my drawer is overflowing. I can’t do any work. I don’t feel like drawing anymore. I just want to read BC after BC.

A4. asked me if I was really going to spend over a grand on Barbara Cartlands. This was a bit of a reality check. I hadn’t really thought about it in terms of hard cold cash. I only feel my collection isn’t accelerating fast enough.

I have a bad feeling it might end up being more than a grand anyway.

Even if I buy all the books on eBay and amazon I don’t know if my count will go further than 500 or so. The last 200 BC’s are going to be really tough to track down.

It’s all getting a bit out of control.

Minimizing personal possessions to make room – I got rid of most of my shoes because they compete for space with my books. Books always trump shoes, which shows you my lack of perspective. I actually need some shoes.

The not drawing is worrying me the most. It screams lack of focus, lack of ambition. I have all these ideas, loads of plans, sketches, thumbnails for large drawings but I really can’t do anything besides read these damn books.

I’m supposed to finish some freelance work and I’ve procrastinated all morning instead.

I also just bought 9 more.

Fuck. What is wrong with me? Why do I get like this? Where is the moderation? But then lack of moderation is so much more exciting.

Just imagine how amazing it would look to have 723 Barbara Carland titles on shelf upon shelf. I can already see it, in my mind’s eye. Just towers and towers of Barbara Cartlands. Even as they are, unarranged and piled under my bed, the sheer quantity of them lined up haphazardly thrills me.

723 now, that would be truly impressive.

I can’t wait.

My Drugs Hell

4 Twilight books

In order to fund my little ‘habit‘ I have now taken to selling things. This was the first of my lots. Lets just hope things don’t spiral even more out of control and I take to nicking things like some crackhead.

I never thought the day would come when I would sell a book. It totally goes against my hoarders grain.

I took photos of the items in the living room. The spot lighting in the living room is great for ambiance but terrible for taking photos because the shadows fall in multiple directions.

I ‘arrrggggh!!”-ed out loud more than once.

The second will be a set of 7 duplicate Barbara Cartland’s including her crappy ass book of poems. I don’t do poems. (Unless its Tim Burton and even then…no I really don’t do poems. At least I wouldn’t keep a book of them)

The third lot will be my roller blades + elbow guards + knee guards that my Mom made me buy.

The Twilight books sold way too cheap and I underestimated the postage. I was so not cut out for business. Arrggggh!

This is what happens kids, when you start a stupid collection.

Count: 187

99 Barbara Cartland’s sat on a Wall

..take one down, read it aloud. 98 Barbara Cartland’s sat on a wall.

I now own a book called 'The Love Pirate'. Go ahead and judge me

Well, actually my count has gone up. It’s now around 120. Although that sounds like a lot, it’s barely 1/7th of the 723 or whatever she wrote.

The glow of satisfaction I derived from my initial Ebay purchases have long since evaporated. There’s only an aching sense that I’m not close enough to my vowed goal of all 700-something books. I’m chasing that high again. I’m looking for bigger better lots, I want more, I need more (teeth gritted, fist clenched).

I’ve just bought 15 more, then I bought another 8 yesterday. (A colleague at work told me I should punch myself in the face. Seriously, punch yourself.)

B.C. books have subverted my fragile young mind and totally warped my view of heterosexual romance. This is all S’s fault. She lent me a book in the 8th standard. (Which I have since bought in fact. Going straight to the source of the problem.)

The plot of this book was super lame. Forced marriage to King of fictional Euro-trash country, hates husband, kidnapping (there might have been a donkey involved in this kidnapping), hiding in cave, husband rescuing, husband is hero, then all love-dove-shove. The end.

I was hooked ever since, like on cheap crack (not that I know much about crack, but I imagine its similar to a B.C. addiction).

Leo asked me to lend him one, but I’m afraid

1.) He’ll judge me

2.) He might hurl the book out of a window, like when Amol hurled a plate out of a window (He was very angry or something. There must have been a girl involved).

3.) BC’s are like crack. You just can’t go back, or forget about it. I’m trying to protect Leo from a nasty problem. Especially since he’s supposed to be a respectable (relatively) academic.

4.) It might warp his fragile eggshell mind (as it did mine.)This post by some woman could not be more accurate. It’s also hilarious. 10 Things Barbara Cartland Taught Me About Romance

5.) On the other hand, BC’s are really politically incorrect, Leo might enjoy that. Let me sum up the wealth of my BC expertise into a few lines:

• Women are subordinate to men.
• They must be virgins. If they are not, they are defective and not worthy of true love.
• Women should not work, their proper place is at home, making babies.
• Not just a few babies, but lots of babies (pfffttt!).
• If a woman gets raped, her bastard child will be deformed or mentally handicapped, because only ‘love children’ are good-looking. (Fact!)
• Any mentally handicapped characters deserve to die because they get in the hero-heroines way, besides, BC rationalizes this is the best thing that can happen to a mentally handicapped person.
• Mentally handicapped people are usually violent.

Just for these reasons I think Leo should read one. (The Secret Fear, I think was the most offensive BC book I’ve read so far.)

This guy (below) on eBay is clearly a joker, preying on crack-addicted, cheap romance novel junkies.

All we want is love, and all we get is stones and eBay jokers. Mocking us.

Look at the price he's hocking his book for! (£50,000 but P&P is Free. Fool). I have it already. Hah. So there. Screw him

I have some collection issues. I have over the years started and given up various collections. When I’m in the grip of a collection fever (as I am now), I lose all sense of perspective. I started my eBay bidding thinking

“No way will I pay more than 50p per book! Who do these people think they are?? I am so not buying that shit for £0.99! Whatever!”

Now I see a book – “Hmmmmm… only £2.00 a book? I’ll have it! And that one and that one and that one!”

Just to clarify, for a B.C. £2.00 is beyond ridiculous. That’s more than a beer. The books are actually not worth more than £0.10. Slap myself.

I think the collecting bug may be genetic or at least parent influenced because my mother also has had collections of various items over the years. I have photo documented (in part) and listed these below.

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My Mother:

1. Cats (real cats, we have about 5/6. Although a few have died or disappeared recently)
2. Cats (silver cats, glass cats, cat mugs, cat photo frames, cat garden ornaments, so on)
3. Piggy Banks
4. Hats
5. Walking Sticks
6. Masks
7. Pipes
8. Stamps
9. Decorative wall plates (on going)
10. Magnets (on going)
11. Glass bottles (on and off, various kinds)
12. Clay, figurative wall hangings (on and off)
13. Those indian paintings with loads of gold and jewel-work (over I think)
14. Etchings (on and off, there’s a great one of a tiger running off with a baby. Its called a Tragic Event)
15. Scrunchies (I found an entire drawer of scrunchies. One was designed to look like hair. Seriously.)
16. Matchboxes (not any more)

Mine: (Don’t have any photos)

1. Stones (not anymore)
2. Broaches (on and off)
3. Headbands (on going until I grow better hair)
4. Things that are red
5. Victorian Photographs (on hold)
6. Postcards (on going)
7. Comics (temporarily on hold)
8. Book Art Books (on hold, on and off)
9. Stamps (on and off)
10. Barbara Cartland’s (on going)
11. Agatha Christie (recently but probably no more)

A few interesting links:

10 Things Barbara Cartland Taught Me About Romance: A truer word has never been written.

Love changes everything: The men picking up Barbara Cartland’s baton: I like to be inclusive

Barbara Cartland Book Cover Art Blog: Francis Marshall covers are the only ones I really like, he has this effortless sketchy style (The Love Pirate might be one of his). All his women look mentally handicapped. They have big doe eyes and are usually swooning. I like that.